Worth the Soup

I don't like sandwiches.

There is just something about them that turns me off. Maybe it's the amalgamation of ingredients and merging of flavors that I always felt should be distinct, like meat and vegetable matter. Maybe it's the presence of creamy and vinegary dressings, which just feel wrong. Maybe some forgotten childhood trauma stuck me with the culinary sophistication of a 7-year-old.

When I entered the corporate world, I was discreet about my anti-sandwich bias. As an ambitious young tax rep, I wanted to make the best possible impression. I didn't want to come across as ungrateful or a fault-finder, so when sandwiches were offered to me, I politely declined them.

For better or worse, our managers used food as motivational currency. We welcomed new team members with potlucks. If a team hit an important goal, the manager brought in lunch. If the accomplishment was really big, the team of honor went to a restaurant.

One spring day, the managers wanted to simultaneously thank and appreciate our entire department. The reward: Picnic lunches delivered to our desks by our supervisors, each customized with our favorite foods. A few days before, the managers passed out surveys inquiring into our food preferences.

I dutifully filled out my survey, mentioning my affection for Cheetos and anything chocolate. I stared at the line that said "Favorite sandwich." I didn't know what to write. Should I mention that I didn't like meat and bread to touch? My mother had always warned me that my "weird" food issues would embarrass me someday. I wrote, simply, on the form "No sandwich please. Thank you." I drew a little smiley face so the managers would know I wasn't sore about the subject.

Picnic day came, and happy chaos erupted as the supervisors tried to pass out 100 personalized lunches to 100 hungry tax reps. I was handed my thoughtfully decorated picnic basket, just a little bit lighter than everyone else's. An apple, a bag of Cheetos, and a Snickers bar - it seemed balanced enough for my tastes, and I went back to work.

I was sitting at my desk when I heard my manager sneak up behind me. She handed me a little paper bag and whispered "I wasn't supposed to do this, so please don't tell anybody." I opened the bag to find a cup of chicken noodle soup, a spoon, and some crackers.

There was something else in that paper bag. My boss had just acknowledged me as an individual, quirky and perhaps difficult, but valuable to her and the organization. She acknowledged that it was OK for me not to fit into the rubric of what worked for every other employee. She respected and honored my individuality, and she made an extra effort - going outside of the lunch purchasing policy - to make sure that I felt appreciated. That gesture made an indelible impresson on me. Eight years later, I can still taste the soup.

I crafted a long and effusive e-mail to her that afternoon, thanking her for the lunch, her generosity, and her consistent personal and professional support. I thanked her for always believing in me, having my back, and caring about me. I told her that she was the reason I wanted to grow my career and get into leadership. My message was long and rambling, but her response was concise and unforgettable:

"You are worth the soup."

I have never forgotten those words, and I have never forgotten her message. People are not numbers on a spreadsheet or answers on a form. The extra effort of getting to know a person and embracing his or her differences can change that person's life. I could buy 1000 sandwiches for 1000 people, and not have as much impact as a single cup of soup.